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This time the answer was no—once was enough. So Bob, determined to get as much fun as possible out of his enforced stay at the Canyon, started out alone and joined the group of tourists in front of the hotel. They were already preparing to make the descent. He decided to walk rather than trust to one of the funny fat little mules which were provided for the visitors who were too stout or too lazy to use the means of locomotion given them by nature. “And so you fought?” “Ugh!” grunted Feather-in-the-Wind, by way of saying yes. So, still keeping his hold on Jerry, he led the way back to the Townsite. As they marched, Bob suddenly realized that after the first yell and charge from the Indians he had not heard or seen anything of them..

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“But—but you are!” stammered Bob, taken aback for a moment by Jerry’s words. “Didn’t you admit it—” "Sister," said the eldest one, "an idea has occurred to me: let us try to keep her here over the week. Her stupid old Beast will be enraged at her breaking her word, and perhaps he will devour her." "You are right, sister," replied the other; "to carry out our plan, we must appear very loving and kind to her." And having settled this, they went back to the house and were so affectionate to her, that Beauty cried for joy. When the week drew to a close, the two sisters showed such signs of grief at her departure, and made such lamentation, that she promised to stay till the end of the second one. Beauty, however, reproached herself for the sorrow she would cause her poor Beast, whom she loved with all her heart; and she began to miss him very much. On the tenth night of her absence, she dreamed that she was in the garden of the castle, and that she saw the Beast lying on the grass, apparently dying, and that he reproached her with her ingratitude. Beauty awoke with a start, and wept. "I am indeed wicked," she said, "to behave so ungratefully to a Beast who has been so considerate and kind to me! Is it his fault that he is ugly and that he is not clever? He is good, and that is worth everything else. Why did I refuse to marry him? I should be happier with him than my sisters are with their husbands. It is neither beauty nor wit in a husband which makes a wife happy; it is amiability of character, uprightness and generosity: and the Beast has all these good qualities. I do not love him, but I respect him, and I feel both affection for him, and gratitude. I will not make him unhappy; should I do so, I should reproach myself for it as long as I live." It was as if the sun were an artist, who, not satisfied with his efforts, changed and changed again the colors on his canvas, for each moment the tints and hues would fade or grow more intense as the shadows grew deeper, and the scene would seem quite different. “It will have to be awfully thick, won’t it, to be able to hold the water?”.